Strange Tastes
by koneko zero
Summary: Matt hates Japan. Which is admittedly rather unusual, given his interests." A story of Matt, Mello, and differing tastes in upholstery.


**Title:** Strange Tastes

**Characters & Pairing:** Matt/Mello

**Genre:** Romance, Humour, Drama

**Rating:** T (maybe bordering on M)

**Warnings:** Swearing and innuendo

**Status:** Complete

**Summary:** "Matt hates Japan. Which is admittedly rather unusual, given his interests." A story of Matt, Mello, and differing tastes in upholstery.

--

STRANGE TASTES

--

Matt hates Japan.

Which is admittedly rather unusual, given his interests.

America wasn't so bad – thanks to a forged account, he was able to stay in a top hotel for the few weeks that he was there. His London flat was cleaned once a week by an agency, who James let in for him.

In fairness, he _was_ nervous about leaving James with his spare key, but when he dragged Mello back to Camden there were no hidden cameras in his shower or questionable gifts on the table (or, thank God, in his bed). The heating on, nothing damaged, nothing missing (well, one pair of boxers had been replaced by a ten pound note, but he's willing to let that slide _this once_). The perfect welcome home from a "relaxing holiday" abroad, aside from having to smuggle and piggy-back a lazy blonde drama queen past his own personal stalker and up a set of worryingly rickety fire escape ladders.

Well. Maybe Matt hates America just a little. Even if most of the mess was Mello's fault anyway.

Most messes in Matt's life tend to have _something_ to do with Mello, actually.

For example. Japan. He could quite easily have done all the hacking and surveillance that Mello has asked of him (_so far_, anyway) from his flat back in jolly old England.

Instead, Matt went out for three hours for some space and some air that wasn't full of leather, far too enticing pheromones and so much antiseptic and anaesthetic sprays that his nose is _still_ numb, and returned to find Mello sitting in a crappy old white van in front of the sex shop.

Mello, the sneaky fucking git, had sold – _sold_ – Matt's flat and everything in it, aside from two suitcases of clothes and other miscellaneous crap, his laptop, and one box of gaming paraphernalia.

He's then used the money – _Matt's_ fucking money, since it was Matt's "shithole of a flat" that had been traded for it – to buy a pair of one-way tickets to Japan and throw a deposit down on the dump they're currently shacked up in.

Matt thinks it must be a testament to his kind and forgiving nature that he hasn't melted the other half of Mello's face in the name of revenge. No matter _how_ pretty it is.

That and the same sheer, mind-numbing terror that got him into that thrice-cursed van.

--

Out of everything in his life right now, Matt thinks it's the sofa that he hates the most.

It's cold, cheap imitation leather; low, long and irritatingly squeaky. The cushions are too damn hard (Matt actually opened the covers to check they weren't full of wooden pallets once), and it's impossible to get comfy on.

Mello bought it.

Mello bought it with some of the money he got from, well. _Selling Matt's __**life**__._

Part of which being his beloved bright orange sofa. Cotton covers, squashy, just long enough to prop his head on one arm and his feet on the other. The radiator right behind it to warm through the soft cushions on days of unashamedly British weather.

That sofa stood by him through everything. He called it Frank.

Frank was there for him the time he beat Persona three in eighty hours straight. The time he managed to set fire to his bed by playing with his lighter as he fell asleep. Various liaisons with various blondes blurred by various liquors. James randomly appearing in a scarily tiny pair of boxers for the sixth time. The end of Being Human's first season.

No matter what, Matt could always count on Frank to swallow him whole and make everything better. Sometimes with the added bonus of re-discovered cash.

The leather monstrosity is more likely to yield a spider or half a mouldy sandwich.

Matt calls it Vladimir after the terrifying Russian bastard that used to live next-door-but-one, and stubs his cigarettes out on the back when Mello isn't looking.

--

Two weeks after Mello hauled him across continents and banned him from rambling on to the neighbours, Matt caves and emails James.

Who, it turns out, is now attempting to date "darling Vlad", since Matt has eloped with the "sexy little blonde dom" and James just wants him to be happy.

He also managed to rescue Fluffy before the new owners killed him, and would be more than happy to send him over. Although, he's sorry, but there's nothing he can do with regards to the sofa.

Matt thinks he loves James just a bit.

--

"_Mattie, baby!_

"_I know you've got blondie now, you stud, and Vlad is just freakin' dynamite, but I want you to know that I'll always, always love you, my little geeklet. Your little dom (should've __**known**__ you were into __**that**__, boy!) ever decides on an open deal, baby, you let me know. Vlad knows you'll always be my number one. He'd enjoy it too, anyway!_

_"Hope Fluffy made it ok, darl', and I bobbed in a couple of little surprises for you. Blondie seems like the strict type, but be adventurous, baby!_

"_Thinking of you, Mattie. Loves!_

"_Your James."_

Matt rather scares himself when he tucks the letter away for safekeeping.

Plus he's sure he never, never wants Mello to find any of these "gifts", even if the thought of him handcuffing him to the bed and using that little blue thing _does_ make Matt rather desperate for a cold shower.

Fluffy, however, gets pride of place on top of the television.

Mello makes him move the poor, abused little dear when he manages to somehow stab himself with the cactus that evening.

--

Matt has never shouted at Mello before.

Not ever.

Not really.

But he's sick of Japan and this flat and orders and underestimation, and he feels oddly proud as the silence rings after that last statement hit close to the eighty decibels mark.

Mello isn't so happy.

"No one asked you to be here."

"Mel. _You sold my fucking FLAT_."

"It was _shit_."

"It was my _**life**_, you selfish bastard!"

"Don't call _me_ fucking selfish, git; _I'm_ the one risking my _life_ for a bunch of-"

"You're doing it to beat Near!"

"Don't _you_ say his fucking name!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"I'll tell you whatever the fuck I _want_, Third!"

"Piss off!"

"You!"

"Get _out_ of my _fucking_ flat."

"Your-!"

"_My flat_. Bought with _my money_."

"Shut-!"

"No! _You_ shut up! You fucking _abandon_ me, think _nothing_ of me while _I_ miss you like hell, then demand my help, sell my _life_, _sell my fucking __**sofa**_, threat me like slave boy number five-"

"Number five?"

"What?"

"I always thought of you as four or higher."

"Git."

"Ponce."

And Matt doesn't want to be angry anymore because, for the first time since he accidentally slammed into Near at eight years old whilst running away from an enraged and paint-splattered Roger, Matt can see genuine regret in the quirk of Mello's eyebrow and the twist of his bottom lip.

But.

"Look, Mel, I-"

"I get it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I needed you and you would've said no, like Near and Lisa when Watari-"

"I'd always say yes, Mel."

"Not to coming here with me." And it's been forever and a day since he saw that rose dust on the blonde's face.

He means to ask, but the sound he makes is more like a mouse being stepped on than _anything_ resembling human articulation.

For once, laughter doesn't break the spell of the moment.

--

Matt maintains that this would've been far more comfortable on Frank, but he can't fault Vladimir too much. The hard cushions and frigid covers give him a better excuse to curl into Mello's soft, warm skin. The groans and squeaks of the faux-leather prompt the two men to turn up their volume a little.

The sheer sodding _discomfort_ of the damn thing forces them to relocate to Mello's bed.

Somewhere in the haze of a warm, wet mouth working against his throat, too-clever fingers racing over his chest and gripping his hip, and a hot, hard weight smothering his breath in his pressured lungs, Matt promises to start using the damned ashtray.

--

Three days later, Matt walks back in with his replacement PS3 (plus change) to see two lurid, fluffy orange cushions propped on Vladimir, and a new coffee table bearing his precious Fluffy.

All the new additions are, at risk of sounding like a valley-girl, totally _heinous_. Certainly crimes against all those with vision, possibly punishable by jail time and cattle prods.

The _thought_, however, is beautiful and greatly appreciated.

Mello looks across, and Matt is really, _really_ glad he decided to be kind and forgiving all those weeks ago. His face truly is far too pretty to damage. Especially when he's looking at an equal.

And _goddamn_ if that new status of his doesn't still freak him out.

-- -- --

Thanks for reading! If you have time to, please review! No flames, please, but constructive criticism is very welcome.


End file.
